


Requesting Backup

by Scrunchles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad German Probably, Bad Jokes, Brotherly Angst, Drabble Collection, Family Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Liberal Ignorance, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles involving lots of different characters and based on requests I've received.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunting for Truffles (Junkrat/Roadhog - NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> Request for the use of a pun I came up with for Hog rimming, which was "hunting for truffles." (Which was supposed to be the focus/title of Keep an Open Mind, but what can you do.)

The sheets smelled like soap.  There was a chemical tang to it that sat on the back of his tongue and made him want to turn his head.

“What’re you doing back there?” Junkrat asked, squirming as Roadhog ran his hands up his thighs, massaging his thumbs deep into the wiry muscles.  It felt weird.  Bloody weird and good at the same time.

“Thinking about hunting for truffles,” Roadhog said with an edge of sarcasm.

“What’s ‘at?” Junkrat asked.

Roadhog was silent for a long time, but his thumbs kept working Junkrat’s legs.  “A reference you wouldn’t get.”  Roadhog sighed and hit a knot in Junkrat’s right leg that made a strangled noise rise in his throat.  Roadhog chuckled softly.  “Don’t worry about it.”  He dug in harder until Junkrat kicked him with his foot.

“Watch it, ya bogan.”

“I can make this a matching set,” Roadhog offered, wrapping his entire hand around Junkrat’s calf.

“You wouldn’t,” Junkrat told him, wiggling his leg in Roadhog’s grasp.

“Oh yeah?”  Roadhog gripped him harder and grabbed his prosthetic as well, spreading his legs until he felt like Roadhog was really trying to tear him apart.

“That fucking hurts, you cunt!”  Junkrat snapped.

Roadhog stopped pulling and dragged Junkrat back and up, instead.  “I know…”  His breath on Junkrat’s taint sent a shiver up his spine.  “This won’t, though.”

Junkrat tried to crane his neck to see what Roadhog is going to do—hopefully suck his dick.

He felt something wet and firm press between his ass cheeks and couldn’t help but wiggle at the strange sensation.  The hand on his calf tightened, and he heard the mechanics of his prosthetic creak.

“Oi! Careful with the hardware—“

The slick presence at his ass pressed in harder, and Junkrat felt Roadhog’s stubble chafe against his cheeks and taint. 

“ _Christ_ —“ Junkrat gasped against the sheets and curled his fingers into the fabric.  “That your tongue?!” he asked, trying to look at what was happening, but with the way his body was angled into the air, he couldn’t see shit past Roadhog’s stomach and his own prick.  Roadhog’s tongue withdrew, and Junkrat turned his head, still trying to see, but his neck—well, all of him, really—went lax when Roadhog gathered more spit and pressed his tongue back in for more.  Deep, fast and hard.  He let out a groan, then immediately regretted it when Roadhog’s chuckle vibrated through his core.

Roadhog took his time with Junkrat, pressing into him over and over again, lapping at the sensitive ring with the flat of his soft, wet tongue, and occasionally pulling back to nibble at Junkrat’s cheeks when he got too complacent with the soft pleasure of a warm, skilled mouth on his sensitive bits.

Junkrat felt like everything but his cock was melted by that point.  He reluctantly wiggled an arm between his own stomach and Roadhog’s to touch himself, just to keep himself from rutting against Roadhog.  He didn’t like it when Junkrat tried to move his hips, that much was clear.  Roadhog was in the middle of something, and he seemed like he was enjoying the slow, torturous pace that he’d set up for getting Junkrat off.

Judging from the considerable bulge that Junkrat’s jerking hand had felt when it slipped past, Roadhog was enjoying the slow route to getting himself off too.

Which was weird.

Sex (or even just a fistie) was a means to an end for Junkrat.  Roadhog was stretching it out, making him shiver and groan and teasing him for it.

Junkrat wrapped his hand around his own cock and tugged eagerly at it, his hips giving a shallow thrust back onto the tongue, which had stopped lapping and teasing him and was just sitting there, rigid and wet and when he gave himself a good squeeze that made him shudder and buck his hips back again, he realized that Roadhog was letting him fuck himself on his tongue.

“Oh… bloody  _hell_ ,” Junkrat was suddenly at the precipice of release, and he had no idea why.

He blew all over Roadhog’s stomach, creating a slick slide between them that Roadhog ignored.  Instead, he released Junkrat’s legs and held his hips instead.  Junkrat’s left leg cramped when he curled it back toward him, but he soon had something entirely different to worry about when Roadhog started dipping the tip of his tongue into Junkrat again, pulling back and then dipping in again, over and over.  He pulled back for a moment to spit into Junkrat’s hole, then pressed the thicker intrusion of his thumb against it.  Slowly.

“Hog, why don’t you just _fuck me_?” he asked, his voice was rough from the awkward position and having already come.  It hadn’t even been that good.  It was too quick, ironically, and it had left him unsatisfied, still wanting.  For what, he didn’t know.

Roadhog chuckled.  "And miss all the whinging?“ he asked, pressing his thumb deeper.

Junkrat groaned and arched his back weakly.

“I can do this all night, Rat,” he said softly before pressing his thumb deeper and touching his mouth to Junkrat’s ass cheek so that he could feel his teeth, bared in a smug grin before the dickhead pressed a sweet kiss to his sweat-dampened skin.

“I’m going to make you come again.”

Junkrat groaned against the sheets and tugged until one of the corners slipped off the edge of the mattress.  Sometimes having Roadhog around wasn’t worth staying alive.


	2. Crush (Lucio/Junkrat - SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat definitely does not have a crush on Lucio.

The first time Junkrat had met Lucio, all he’d seen was his slick prosthetics, his white, straight teeth, and a smile so wide he had to be selling something.

Three months later, and he felt like he’d known him his whole life.  

Connections were few, far between and downright dangerous in the Outback, which was why Junkrat had never put stock in the things that other people said.  It was all in the things they did, the way they stood and the way they either crushed everyone around them or were crushed themselves.  

Lucio had thrown him for a trip.  Rather than use his power and connections to break people down, he helped them stand up. When Lucio said he was going to do something—whether it be speaking out against the corruption of suits, or go to the impoverished sector of London or Numbani and help them with food and blankets—he did it.  He did it and it wasn’t for the flock of media or leverage or anything that made sense to Junkrat.

It was just because Lucio _cared_.

Junkrat admired that about him.  He bought his CD, and even covertly went to a few of his shows.  

Lucio had seen him once, and he’d waved directly at him in the middle of spinning his song together.

Junkrat had waved back, and when he left the concert with a t-shirt, Roadhog had said something humiliating and awkward and _not true_ about him having “a crush.”

He wasn’t a teenage girl. His heart didn’t swell with warm fuzzies when he thought about Lucio’s smile, or the way he closed his eyes when he really got into his songs and was still able to hit every electric note and slide.

Junkrat’s palms didn’t sweat when Lucio headed out on a “gig for good” mission and slapped his shoulder with the invitation to “come with.”

He didn’t want to say yes because he would be able to help make a difference—the difference that his home had so sorely needed for the past two decades.  He wanted to say yes because Lucio was kind and considerate and he wanted to be valued by him, if only a little.  He wanted Lucio to like him.

“Nah, m’good,” Junkrat always replied, though he still offered his hand for the handshake Lucio had taught him.  Slapping palms, then the backs of their hands and then bringing their fists together to explode back toward them with a “psh!” sound.

“Offer still stands, bro!” Lucio would remind him as he winked and then skated off down the hall.

Junkrat always watched him leave, and Roadhog always watched him watch.


	3. Peace (Lucio/Hanzo - SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo is jarred from seeing Genji alive. Lucio knows the antidote for what ails him.

Every time Hanzo closed his eyes, he saw green.  A flash, a hint, a spark that hit him in the gut as fiercely as if Genji had just driven his cybernetic knee into him.  Every time he blinked, it was another hit, over and over and over until he felt like he was going to go insane, so he tried not to.

Hanzo sat on the bridge of Hanamura, staring deep into the water below, looking past the lightly dancing cherry blossom petals, and the occasional curious, hungry koi.  He focused within himself and tried to mend the wounds that he had buried so far and so deep for so many years.

Green flashed in the water, but his ears told him that it wasn’t Genji.  

He wouldn’t have heard his brother’s footsteps.  

He heard the whirl of mechanical components, and the soft skidding sound that Lucio’s prosthetics made as he moved forward.  Hanzo blinked and looked up reluctantly as Lucio grinned down at him before slipping down to sit beside him with a soft, “whoop!” as his light-rail prosthetics made sitting on the bridge a little ungainly.

He could just hear some sort of upbeat speech coming from the younger man already.  Something about coming together to fight for what was right, or how teamwork made the dream work.  Something… something that wouldn’t make him feel better, wouldn’t fix his problem.  

He opened his mouth to tell the kid to go away, when an earbud was pressed into his ear.

Hanzo jerked his hand up to pull it back out, but Lucio grabbed his wrist, and the bowman allowed it to be pushed down.  

Music, devoid of vocals and traditional instruments, played through the bud.  Hanzo recognized the style from the songs that Lucio played when they worked together, or blasted music during social functions for their team.  It wasn’t bad.  It was oddly soothing, really, and there was something familiar that picked at his chest when the notes swelled into a crescendo and then suddenly stopped before starting the soft melody from the first again. It was bittersweet.

Hanzo blinked, and for the first time since his fight with Genji, the green he saw didn’t hurt him. It pulsed with the rhythm in his ear, and the index finger idly tapping on his thumb.

Hanzo realized that Lucio was still holding his hand and gently pulled it away, crossing his arms once again and resuming his meditation.  This time, he closed his eyes and felt at peace.


	4. Death Comes (Soldier: 76/Reaper - SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldier: 76 just wanted to help Reaper out because he knew his Reyes was still in there somewhere. Reaper, when faced with feelings, flakes out and disappears in a mist.

Soldier: 76 felt on edge.  He’d come to Route 66 to help Reyes out.  He wanted to give him a chance, wanted to show him that he could still be good.

When he let his mind wander even a little, he felt lips on his own, gloved hands sliding against his tactical gear, looking for buckles and zippers and bare skin.  Reaper had been Reyes, if only for a minute the previous night.  They’d argued morals and then fallen together, like they had a million times before, a million years ago, when Overwatch wasn’t disgraced and fallen.

A hiss behind him brought Soldier: 76 back out of his thoughts.

“Death comes,” came the voice modulated hiss from Reaper’s mask.

Soldier: 76 turned, keeping his posture lax.  He wasn’t afraid of the man.  He could handle Reaper or Reyes or whatever ghoul he was convinced he’d become.  As soon as 76 had reached up to fully remove Reaper’s mask the previous night, he’d vanished in a red and black mist.  “Well, Death didn’t come last night,” he said, making sure that his voice was gruff with disappointment.

A hiss of breath echoed through Reaper’s modulator, and 76 allowed himself a smirk behind his mask.  Yeah, Reyes was in there.  The same tongue-tied man who had taken five minutes to respond to Jack Morrison’s proposition that they not return to their separate bunks during their first night at the Overwatch tower.

Reaper stayed for a few more seconds before he evaporated into a red and black mist again and disappeared.

76 sighed and looked around, hoping to spot the cloaked figure on a rooftop.  “I know you’re still in there, Reyes!”  He knew that there was some other force at work when Reyes started pulling away from him before the fall of Overwatch.  He was going to find that force, and he was going to kill them.


	5. Aches and Names (Jack Morrison/Reinhardt - SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old men sharing the couch with their aches and pains after battle. Also, Reinhardt likes to call Jack lots of pet names.

Reinhardt had been gray and scarred long before the fall of Overwatch.

Now, Jack felt like they matched.  In more ways than just physical appearance.  They matched in physical aches as well.

Reinhardt groaned as he reluctantly lowered himself onto the couch.  Jack scooted over to make room, already pasted down with eight pain relief patches himself.  He leaned forward to grab the box, and paused halfway back when his back twinged.  Jack let out a guttural noise of distress.

Reinhardt’s warm, thick fingers rested on his back.

“Down,” Jack rasped.

Reinhardt found the cramped muscle with Jack’s continued imprecise directions and dug his thumb in.

Jack groaned and slowly leaned back to settle into the couch again.  “Thanks,” Jack said before opening the box of pain relief patches and peeling the backing off.  “Where does it hurt?” he asked, watching Reinhardt slump over on the arm of the couch.

“Just start wrapping at the toes and stop when you get to my chin, _kuschelalder_ ,” Reinhardt replied.

Jack bristled at the nickname and set the box in Reinhardt’s lap.  “Too much work.”

Reinhardt chuckled and dragged Jack back toward him when he moved to get up from the couch.  “Then just rest with me a bit, _alderchen._ ” he suggested, wrapping his tree trunk of an arm around the soldier’s middle and holding him so that he was using Reinhardt’s chest and side rather than the back of the couch.

Jack didn’t have the strength or fortitude to fight back, so he just relaxed and closed his eyes.  “I hate your nicknames,” he reminded Reinhardt.

“I know, _truthahnbär_ ,” Reinhardt chuckled and kissed Jack’s hair when he tried to wiggle away, wrapping his other arm stiffly around the smaller man and holding him fast to his side.


	6. Brothers (Genji & Hanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo reflects as he and Genji finally hug out their issues.

Regret came in many forms.  

 

It came in the form of repentance, of helping people in the wake of a realized error.

 

It came in the form of apologies and bids for forgiveness, regardless of whether that forgiveness was deserved or not.

 

And then it came in the form where both parties acknowledged their folly and embraced each other in mutual apology.

 

Hanzo hadn't hugged his brother since they were children.  His cybernetic armor was hard and hummed eerily against Hanzo's chest, but it was the sentiment of it all, the idea that they could be as they were at one point in the past. 

 

Brothers, in blood and spirit.  Competitors, in life and sport.  Friends, in heart and soul.

 

Killing Genji was the hardest thing that Hanzo had ever had to live with.  It was harder than the fall of their family, harder than losing all that he had loved in the face of "justice" and "rightness."  He hadn't understood back then, hadn't seen the destruction and pain that was everything his family stood for.  Well, he had seen it, but he hadn't seen the wrongness in it.

 

Genji had, and he had left.  Their sibling bond had become a rift between them, and the memories they shared had soured into hatred.

 

 _He doesn't understand me_.

 

Hanzo still wasn't sure they understood each other, not really.  But Genji's arms around his waist and his head on his shoulder made him wonder if they didn't have to understand each other.  Maybe understanding wasn't the problem so much as trusting that his brother felt what was right and followed it, objectively to the end, rather than allowing his mind to be skewed by others' expectations and ideals.

 

Genji's armor creaked with the force of Hanzo's arms giving him a squeeze, but he didn't move.

 

Regret was spending years hating himself for something he'd done in rage, and returning to that rage when he found out that Genji had survived.  He had abandoned his relief and struck out in violent passion, and that had been just another regret added to his troubled heart.

 

Voices echoed down the hallway, and the two Shimada brothers separated from their embrace.

 

Hanzo stared into Genji's visor for a moment before he offered his arm, himself.

 

Genji's hand clasped his forearm and Hanzo held Genji's arm back.

 

" _Brothers_?" Genji asked in their native tongue, a final bid for resolution after all this time.

 

" _Brothers_ ," Hanzo echoed, the corner of his lips lifting in the sternest of smiles.

 


End file.
